


Makes Me Reckless

by liamthebastard



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5568010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamthebastard/pseuds/liamthebastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>We were like one of those shitty coming of age movies where the protagonist realizes the person he wanted was right beside him on all of his adventures the whole time and they drive off into the sunset together to some indie song and it feels like infinity. We were those people.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Makes Me Reckless

It’s a quiet bar, Western in style and near enough to Hajime’s place that he feels comfortable walking inside rather than walking past it on days when he’s feeling particularly reminiscent or lonely. He’s something of a regular there, enough that the bartender brings him his whiskey without Hajime needing to ask, and if it looks like a rougher night, makes it a double. 

It’s already been a rough day. Harder than it should’ve been. Being a pediatric physician in Tokyo is usually just reassuring worried mothers that yes their children are fine, it’s just a sniffle, no they don’t need antibiotics, they’ll be fine. But sometimes… sometimes it was harder. Sometimes Hajime’s patients weren’t fine, and weren’t going to be fine, and no amount of antibiotics would help. So when he passes by the bar and sees the lights on, warm and friendly pouring onto the chilly sidewalk through large glass panes, he goes in, on instinct. He’s been in often enough that the bartender, the servers, even the playlist that always plays from seven pm to last call have become somewhat familiar to Hajime; not so much that he feels pressured to talk or interact, but enough that he feels safe there, comfortable. 

He normally is greeted by the taciturn bartender, a woman in her forties or fifties, Hajime’s never asked, but instead she seems occupied by another patron around the corner of the bar. Only instead of griping or grunting at the patron, she’s laughing, her voice loud and booming like bells, and Iwaizumi is already in awe of whoever it was that made her laugh like that. He can’t get a good look at the guy from where he’s sitting, thanks to the bend in the bar, but he can hear the low murmur of his voice, and it sounds so familiar. It’s a voice similar to one he knew once, but different in all the important ways. This voice is softer, more confident, more certain in what he’s saying. 

By now every server in the place has stopped by the end of the bar at least twice to talk with the mystery patron, so his voice has become friendly background noise, but Hajime still can’t decide if he knows the speaker or not. He can’t even determine if the person’s here alone or not, so he can’t just go join him. 

He’s a few drinks in when he just decides to go for it. He grabs his phone and his drink and migrates down the bar to slide into the seat next to the mystery bar guest. The bartender gives him a strange look, but then glances to the man next to him and her face changed into a knowing smirk. 

Hajime, for his part, is trying not to stare openly at the man to his right. God, he looks so familiar, and so different. Then again, Hajime isn’t exactly a carbon copy of who he was a decade ago either.

“Hey stranger,” the man says. Hajime just glances to the side and quirks an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything for a moment. 

“Mind if I sit, for a moment?” he finally says, a little late, seeing as he’s already been sitting there for a few minutes.  
His companion’s lips twitch in the approximation of a smile. “Sure, but on one condition,” he agrees. “You’ve gotta tell me what made you finally move when you’ve been staring at me all night long.”

Hajime’s had a lifetime of practice dodging questions he doesn’t want to answer, but just this once he figures - why not be brave? He’ll never see this man again, so it doesn’t matter if he becomes one of those weird people who spills their guts to complete strangers. When he was younger he would’ve thought twice, but before that, when he was younger still, he would’ve poured his heart out to this man in an instant. He’s supposed to be too smart to place that kind of trust in others now, but something about the man next to him makes him feel young again. It brings back memories of early morning practices set to the soundtrack of yawns and squeaking sneakers, of late night sleepovers backlit by bad scifi movies and glow in the dark stars, of rare free afternoons spent studying in the library where the light hit his companion just so across the face, not unlike how the low hanging lamps cast highlights across the man’s hair and cheekbones. 

The lights make them both look younger, smooths away all the years of exhaustion and heartache and laughter and joy. It makes them both seem warmer, like old friends meeting by chance, instead of two strangers bumping elbows. 

“You look like somebody I knew once,” Hajime finally answers. “It reminded me of when we were young, he and I.” 

His drinking companion nods sagely. “Well, you’re welcome to take a photo, it’ll last you longer than all that staring,” he says, finally letting a self-centered smirk grace his lips for a brief moment. Hajime chuckles, but pulls out his phone and snaps a quick photo of the man’s profile, even though he knows the camera won’t be able to capture the strange air of nostalgia and novelty that seems to be soaking into the air around the pair. 

“Someone you knew once, huh?” the man says after a few minutes of content silence between them. “Tell me about him.”

Hajime sighs. “We were… something, when we were young. We’d grown up together, and one day we realized we were more. Like one of those shitty coming of age movies where the protagonist realizes the person he wanted was right beside him on all of his adventures the whole time and they drive off into the sunset together to some indie song and it feels like infinity. We were those people. Well, he was that person. I _wanted_ to be that person for him.”

In Hajime’s periphery, the other man spins on his stool to face him more fully. “So what happened?”

“Life. We got older, things happened, life got in the way. I got a residency in Tokyo and he followed me here, but he never wanted to stay in Japan. He was made for more than this tiny island, and we both knew it,” Hajime says, running a finger absently over the rim of his drink. “And I was a coward,” he admits after a moment. “I didn’t tell him how important he was, I let him try and infer it, and he’s never been the best at that.” 

The man seems to be studying him intently, and while he does so, Hajime summons every last bit of courage he has in him, knocks back the last dregs of his drink, and spins in his stool to face his companion directly for the first time all night. He locks gazes with the man, large chocolate eyes still as deep and shining as he’d remembered. “So you can imagine my surprise when nobody -not our friends, not our parents, nobody- told me he was in town tonight.”

Tooru laughs. “Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe he burned a lot of bridges when he left.”

“I thought you’d moved overseas, headed for cousins in England,” Hajime says, and he tries to keep the accusation out of his words. It’s been years, he’s let go of the hurt, mostly. He no longer wants Tooru to apologize or grovel. More than anything, he just wants to sit with Tooru a little bit longer, let his voice and mannerisms and overall charisma sweep Hajime back to a time when the world was wide and full of wonder, to when anything was possible so long as this beautiful boy was by his side. 

“I did, for a while. And then I was other places, for some time, and now I’m here, for a bit,” Tooru replies, his voice neutral but still sounding a little apologetic. “Didn’t expect to see you here, though,” he concludes.

It’s Hajime’s turn to sound neutral. “Well, it’s near my place,” he delivers carefully. He watches for Tooru to realize what that means. 

“I know you’re not still living there,” he says in a voice that has seen through every one of Hajime’s deadpan jokes for the better part of three decades. 

Hajime smiles. “No, but not too far. The nicer complex down the street, remember how much you liked the vaulted ceilings? I couldn’t resist moving in there, just to spite you.” Tooru had spent a solid ten minutes studying them when he and Hajime had first been hunting for somewhere to live, but in the end, it had been too expensive for them to afford, so they had chosen something similar but cheaper a few blocks away. By the time Hajime had become established, Tooru had already up and left. He’d moved into the nicer place partially out of spite, but mostly because looking at the ceilings made him remember a happy Tooru, and a happy Tooru was the best thing he could remember.

Tooru laughs, and it’s light and real like Hajime hasn’t heard in years, and _god_ he has missed someone who genuinely laughs with him. “You’re a sentimental fool, Hajime, holding on to memories like that,” Tooru says fondly.

“Perhaps. But they’re worth holding on to, just in case, don’t you think?” Hajime asks. 

They’ve been looking at each other for too long, holding eye contact long enough that anyone else would be uncomfortable, but all Hajime can think of is how much he’s missed staring into these eyes. Tooru is everything he misses about who he used to be, and the way he looks is nearly identical to how Hajime has imagined him the countless times he’s stared into a pint glass at this very bar. 

Tooru is leaning in just a bit, just enough that if Hajime really wants to, he can reach out a take what he wants, if only he can find the mettle.

Maybe it’s the drink, or the overwhelming sense of nostalgia, or perhaps the creeping fear that in the daylight this will turn out to have been just a dream, but Hajime finds one more scrap of courage, and pushes himself to lean out of his seat and meet Tooru halfway, their lips pressing together just once, chastely, leaving Hajime’s lips tasting faintly of rum and coke and vanilla chapstick. Tooru smiles at him, and it’s a bittersweet thing that haunts Hajime as he downs the last of his drink, settles his tab, and leaves without a word.

He doesn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> let's be real im just writing a fic for every one of adele's new songs for iwaoi welcome to hell friends


End file.
